Deepest Apologies in the Language of Walter
by Hannibal the Animal
Summary: Walter has to apologise to Astrid for what he did, but sometimes he feels like they're both speaking different languages. Takes place after "The Arrival". Walter/Astrid. One-shot


He set the bucket of fresh milk on her desk for her to put away in the fridge. He straightened his shirt collar and cleared his throat. Where was she? Why was she late? Surely she couldn't still be mad. He had thought of so many things to say to her, because speaking to her was far different than anyone else. When people talked to him the usually meant exactly what they said. _"Shut up, Walter!"_ was what Peter said when he wanted him quiet. _"We need your help, Dr. Bishop,"_ was what Olivia said when she needed help. _"Eat your pudding,"_ was what the nurse at St. Claire's said when he wanted Walter to swallow that mess known as butterscotch pudding. Words towards him were all straightforward in their meaning.

Except for Astrid's. She spoke five languages and seemed to apply English like a code. Instead of saying "I hungry for lunch," she'd slowly organise her papers and mention that she had heard of a nearby deli that delivered sandwiches to the campus. He'd then comment that he hoped they gave sides of pickle spears and she'd reply that they could always ask. Then he'd start craving pickle spears and pastrami and have her order them lunch, like it had been his idea all along. It was no wonder that she couldn't speak "Walter"—she wasn't as direct as he was.

However, today he decided that he would try to speak to her in "Astrid English Cipher" and hopefully he would successfully apologise to her, let her know that he felt horrible for what he had done to her. He straightened his shirt collar again and wished he had some translating dictionary or device. Seventeen years was a long time to become accustomed to a lack of sane communication—

The door to the laboratory opened and he smiled. There she was, looking as fresh and as lovely as she did every morning. Astrid however did not look so happy when she spotted him.

She stopped in her tracks, staring at him, her brow knotted. "I didn't think you'd be here."

"I came early to make sure I wouldn't miss you," he said softly, taking a step forward as his smile began to fade.

She slowly sidestepped and gave a fearful glance towards her desk. "I just came to grab my day planner."

He cleared his throat, his heart and mind racing. Apologising wasn't something that had happened very often in St. Claire's and he absolutely had to make sure that Astrid understood he was baring his soul to her. So, he started.

"Astrid comes from the Old Norse Ásfríðr, which means Divine Beauty. Astrid is the Northern Germanic pronunciation. Your parents aren't German, are they?" he asked with a bit of afterthought.

"No."

"I didn't think so," he said reflected, then realised that he was getting distracted. "It is uh, also the name of a series of asteroids. And an award in communication arts and sciences."

His talk of information did not seem to interest her and he found himself searching for a way to bring her attention around again. She seemed to have eyes only for the desk and the position of his hands, so giving him a wide berth, she moved to her desk and he followed. The day planner she had spoken of was a butter-smooth black leather book that had her name imprinted in silver foil. Her hand shot out to take it.

"Here it is—"

His hand quickly covered hers, holding it down firmly and he could feel her entire being tense up and he was fairly sure her breath had caught in her throat as she had stopped talking. He wished she knew how sincere he truly was.

"I am sorry. If there had been another way, I would have done it. I want to make this up to you. It is a small start of gestures to come, but I brought you flowers." He grabbed the rock hard flora off the table next to them. He held them out to her. "I wasn't sure when you'd show up, so I dipped them in liquid nitrogen to make sure they didn't wilt while I waited for you.

She jerked her hand out from under his, clutching the day planner to her chest. "I should probably be going."

As she hurried away, he called after her, pleading, "Whatever you need to make you happy?"

Her hand touched the doorknob and he knew he'd have to use his a last resort to keep her from leaving.

"I saved something for you!" he shouted.

She stopped and he knew he had hooked her. He had learned in their short time together that she was a very curious girl and his offer was almost a threat to her inquisitiveness—she couldn't leave without knowing what he had. She didn't turn around though and he could see her free hand was clenched in a fist.

"It's a CD of the music the beacon was playing," he said smoothly, reaching for a disc that was on his desk.

This made her turn and he could see her eyes had become slits, a sign of suspicion. "I didn't hear any music."

"The decibel range was lower than the human ear could hear, but I enhanced it." He thought of something that would pull her in further. "The music of the spheres."

"That's a pretty bold assertion," she said, her tone cynical, but she was coming back towards him, her eyes on the silver plastic and metal that contained the music.

He wanted to pander to her love of music and held the disc up between his index and middle finger. "May I play it for you?"

She looked uneasy, but nodded. Walter was delighted; he'd wanted to listen to the music earlier, but he had waited for her so she could hear it with him. He placed the CD into the player Olivia had brought and the basement filled with sounds that couldn't be described in any language. Notes wove in and out of rises and falls, lifting, lilting, then sinking and swirling. He relaxed and his smile returned. He watched as she slowly closed her eyes, thick butterfly-wing lashes lowering to cover coal black planetoids; he wanted to remind her that there were asteroids with her name, but he knew how beautiful the music sounded and he didn't want to interrupt her.

Eyes still closed, she frowned. "Is that row-row-row-your-boat?"

He smiled, glad she recognised the tune. "I sang it to the beacon. It comforts me. Peter sings it to me so I can sleep."

Her face became placid again and she murmured, "It's beautiful."

"This is about an hour long rendition." He hit the stop button and her eyes shot open. "The song you often hum while we work? I had recorded it previously and played it back when I was near the beacon. After finding out how it reacted when I sang to it, I decided to see if your voice had the same effect."

She narrowed her eyes again. "Why did you record me?"

"I've been gathering samples of people's singing. I hoped to come across a decent substitute to Peter's singing when he is away, but alas you were not it. It's nothing personal—I'm simply set in my ways." He quickly moved to the computer. "What is your song called by the way, so that I may properly label the file?"

She seemed hesitant, but she finally murmured, "Just Show Me How to Love You."

Ah, how fitting," he said as he typed, wondering why that song seemed so often stuck in her head. Then he turned back to her. "It's on the CD as well. Shall I get your flowers some water?"

She raised an eyebrow, the face's way of portraying confusion. "I thought they were flash frozen."

He paused as he reached for the flowers. "They are. I'm simply trying to go through the motions."

Astrid smiled. "Then, yes. I'd hate for them to dry out."

He looked back up at her, frowning again. "They won't. They're flash frozen—oh I see, you were making a joke. I have a book of jokes I'm learning to tell Peter. However they seem on par with the ones you'd find on a popsicle stick—oh! Can I interest you in some ice cream? Freshly made." He felt bad for going on a tangent again. "I'm still very sorry."

She was quiet.

He felt uncomfortable and frustrated; why couldn't she just say _"I hate you"_ or _"I forgive you" _or _"Electrocute yourself and we'll be even."_

But Astrid, amazing, clever Astrid was not him and he realised that he'd have to be patient to sway her to his wishes. Perhaps more trivia was in order?

"Astrid was the name of many eastern European queens, though I'm sure many of them weren't as beautiful." She shifted slightly, towards him in fact and he continued. "You're wearing a skirt today. It's very nice, as are your stockings."

She looked a little caught off guard at his compliment and she looked down at her legs. "I started wearing pants when I began working with you. I never knew what to expect day to day."

He studied her legs along with her, a steel grey pencil skirt that ended right above her knees, then continued as sheer nylon the colour of café au lait, a fantastic, inspiring hue of brown—

"Oh, perhaps we'd like root-beer floats. I love root beer floats. They didn't make them at St. Claire's Hospital," he said interrupting thoughts about her anatomy, then added sadly, "Seventeen years is a long time to go without something you love."

She nodded and he wondered what she thought of how close they were to one another. Did she wonder things about him or was she only there for a job?

"Do you question my judgment?" he asked suddenly, speaking without thinking.

"No!" she cried, obviously horrified to be asked something like that. Her out burst startled him slightly and she lowered her eyes. "No, I just wish that you had told me what you were up to. I wouldn't have stopped you, Dr. Bishop."

This surprised him. "You would have let me go?"

She bit her lower lip then said, "Just promise me that you'll never do that to me again."

He carefully put his hand on top of hers once more. Living seventeen years in an institution had also given him a deeper understanding of physical contact and how much the human psyche needed it. The simple act of touching expressed so much more than words ever could. A pat on the shoulder meant camaraderie. An embrace meant affection. A needle in the neck…well, that usually meant a betray of trust. And touching hands? That meant many things and Astrid wasn't pulling away.

"I can't. You understand that, don't you? Our work here sometimes has to come at the expense of others." He really hoped she understood that. "I assure you I did not enjoy that aspect for moment."

She still looked hurt and he was crestfallen. "Of all the people I've hurt, you I regret the most."

"What about Peter?" she questioned, eyes meeting his.

Oh yes. Peter. He had forgotten how angry Peter was with him.

"Peter…I am sorry that I've hurt Peter, but he has to love me because I am his father. This means I have plenty of time to make everything up to him and he has to forgive me in the end." Walter took he opportunity to touch her smooth knuckles with his fingertip. "You however, do not have to accept my apologies. I have found so much…_happiness_ in the company we share together and I would hate to lose it. You do not have to give me your forgiveness and that is why it's so important to me that I seek it."

Astrid opened her mouth to speak just as the door to the laboratory opened without warning. They both stared at Peter who was glancing down at a newspaper in his hands. Walter coughed and his son's head jerked up.

"Walter, what are you doing here so ear—Astrid!" Peter caught sight of Walter's hand on hers and his face instantly darkened. "Walter, get _away_ from her!"

Walter jerked his hand away as though he had been burned.

"It's okay, Peter. I'm fine," Astrid assured, pulling her own hand away quickly.

"You are?" both men asked in unison and it was hard to say who was more surprised.

Astrid began to busy herself with the scattered papers on the desk, as if it had been her intention all along. "Don't we have to get to work, Dr. Bishop?"

A little surprised and a little confident, he turned to his son. "Peter, will you go get us some candy bars from the vending machine on the main floor?"

But Peter didn't seem as pleased as him. "Noooo way. The last time I went out to get you something, you attacked A—"

"I did not attack her! I did what was needed to save all of our lives!" Walter shouted, feeling his blood boil.

Astrid, in all her grace and dignity turned to the younger man and said gently, "I'll be okay, Peter."

Peter looked skeptical but could obviously tell he wouldn't win an argument against either of them. He sighed and looked at Walter. "I suppose you expect me to use my own money."

Walter shrugged and grinned sheepishly. "I'm afraid I have none on me."

Peter grumbled and left the room, his eyes still going between he and Astrid, as though he were truly afraid to leave them alone once again.

Walter turned to Astrid and asked curiously, "Have you forgiven me, then?"

She shook her head as she neatly stacked the loose papers on her desk. "No."

"I suspected not."

She shrugged. "That's all right. You can earn it."

"My offer still stands. Anything you want to level the fields." He also had something else he needed to admit, to help make things right. "I wish I could have heard you and the beacon sing together."

Her face lit up at his revelation and he watched her lower her eyes bashfully.

"I'm going to my car to get my trousers," she declared and made her way to the door.

He smiled, too, happy that he has managed to return peace and order to his life for the first time in many years. "A good idea. We have a lot of work to do today."

He could hear her smirk and she exited the lab, leaving the door partially open.

"Astrid is a good name for you! It means Divine Beauty!" he shouted out after her and he could swear he heard her laugh.

* * *

_**A/N:** The moment I decided I needed to ship Astrid and Walter was when he asked for that syringe in "The Arrival". Then he promptly stabbed her in the neck with it! AUGH! Why does this always happen to me when I pick a pairing?! Something bad always happens :( But it seems like they made up by the next episode and for some reason, the show's writers didn't seem to think we'd be interested in how they made up. WTF. Even if I wasn't shipping them I would have wanted to know._


End file.
